Touch Upon the Surface
by Rachel Rebecca
Summary: Another night in the rain for our favourite Hellspawn.


****

DISCLAIMER: This is my first Spawn fan fiction, it's not very good but I tried. Spawn and characters do not belong to me. I've seen the movie and watched the cartoon religiously but did not read the comics, so forgive any incorrect information. Flamers get bent. 

Spawn crouched, broken in spirit and body, amongst the dumpsters. No one bothered him, but he could not help but hear the whispers of the others, as they huddled around their fires. His bright eyes surfed amongst them, and his pity and disgust threatened to consume him. What was he doing here? He moved further back against the wall, disregarding the chill, and hugged himself. The rain pounded against him, and he wished it would stop. He stood, cape fluttering with the wind, and moved without sound from the alley. 

Up the wall he soared, until he came upon the top of the roof. The lights of the city greeted him with their optimism, and he felt his sorrow well up within his breast. The night was unkind. He should not be here. He should be at home, lying in bed with she. She, who had consumed his thoughts since his return. The one name that echoed within his tattered soul. _Wanda . _Always Wanda. He ached for her. He longed to touch her cocoa skin…run his hands over the curves in her back, feel the supple flesh of her breasts…but no. He was here now, and there was no way he could change what had happened. But to go back…yes, he would like that very much. 

The moon mocked him, sitting there amongst its halo of clouds and stars. He cast his gaze to it, wishing he could just forget the deal he'd made, and just go to sleep. The torture he was enduring every moment of his reality was now unbearable. Knowing that his beloved was bedding with Terry and had probably forgotten him, ripped his innards apart with its metal claws. He moved, gracefully, over the cracked roof top, and swooped from building to building. The night let him fly, for he was of it. 

The rats the lingered in the towers of the old cathedral were not accustomed to his presence, they did not flinch and flee at the sight of the hunkered down figure that loomed in the moonlight cast by the rose window. They were even curious of him. Few dared approach, but tonight they all wanted a peek. Spawn did not notice them, skulking around him with their slanted red eyes and pointed muzzles. His thoughts were in only one place tonight. He stared through the stained glass at the scene below; it was cut up in pinks and yellows, but the cars moved as they always did. He let out a growl of frustration and spun from the window, and the rats scattered. He stalked from the room, climbing through the broken walls to the roof. He moved through the rubble, and scaled the cross, perching on the top, cape billowing in the wind. 

The rain was now a light drizzle. Spawn suspended there for hours, his mind racing. _Wanda _. His eyes held nothing within him, and he felt himself radiate his passions through his skin. He turned his head and closed his eyes, and he felt the rain hit him again. "How ya doin', Spawney?" came the voice. The vulgar voice of repulsion, oh, how Spawn hated him. 

"What do you want, fat boy?"

"Now, now. No need for name calling." Clown laughed, giggling in his little way. 

Spawn frowned, and his eyes slanted in anger. "Like I said, how ya doin', Spawney? Still all broody brood up here, I see." 

"What do you want!" Spawn said, biting the words off through his teeth. 

"Now, now, little Spawney. Play nice. I've been sent to check up on ya. Seems you've become a lazy bum, since last time we had our little talk. More souls, on your part, young Hellspawn. I've come to tell you again. Get with the fucking program." Clown said, ending his sentence with hard syllables. And then he was gone.

Spawn did not rise for a while after. The sun threatened him, and he moved from his perch onto the slick roof top, careful not to slip on the rubble. His chain counterparts lashed out at the random things of the night, and with them flew his despair. He groped his mind for reasons as to why he didn't just end it now, and before he knew it, he was treading the familiar sidewalk of the street in which Wanda lived on. The dawn was still a few hours away yet. 

Seed of evil, was he, but in that moment, he did not feel that part of him. Masking himself, he hid out in the yard, watching through the blinds of the window. There she was…Wanda. She was sleeping soundly, tangled, half-naked, in the sheets of her bed. Terry was not there, probably out on some mission or another. To leave such and elegant flower alone…was a mistake. All Spawn had to do was whisk in and take her away. She never wake, and he's have his love to himself again. No…he could not do that. His expression saddened at this; too many times had he been seen. Hellspawn were to be more discrete, he was sure. But he loved her. Damn the deal he'd made! Was it possible for a Hellspawn to cross over? He'd wait for her on the other side. They'd be together then. Yes….they'd be together then. 

Wanda stirred in her sleep. Spawn watched, his eyes ablaze. She was so elegant, so beautiful, even in slumber. Spawn felt both the love and the sexual lust burn within his remnants, and he longed for his old life again. He turned from the window. Maybe it would have been better never to have regained his memory. The torture of not remembering, he was certain he could endure, versus remembering, and never getting it back again. He could not move on, he could not move past this. Being here was torturing him further. Why did he come here all the time? He became angry with himself, and cried anger through clenched teeth. Wanda stirred again. He looked back at the window in horror. He must not be seen. 

With stealth only a Hellspawn could possess, he fled that cursed place. Damn Terry. Damn everything. He cursed, as he found himself once again cowering away in his cathedral. In anger he lashed out with chains, breaking relics and sculptures, his frustrations leaking like blood from the vessel. 

The emotion ran cold. Spawn fell to his knees with despondency, embracing his knees, scowling at the dark. Oh, what a world. Oh, what a deal he'd made. "Spawney…" the voice came from the dark. 

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT!" Spawn screamed through the dark, his words slicing the silence like the machete to flesh. His voice echoed back to him. His own mind playing tricks, again, he assumed. He felt the single tears rise up again. Oh, Wanda…

****

FIN.

To be continued…


End file.
